I felt his ring around my finger
Before we’d even touched hands.
A meek merchant of charm,
He desisted from cheap sentiments
And instead borrowed a will of silence
From some eastern monastery or other,
Citing his affections through silent smiles
And a shrug of his shoulders which told me:
“I am as baffled by this world as you are, dear.
For far too long I have had to lean on one leg
Whilst standing, to ease my ache, to wait things out.
Come, sit with me.”
And so I did.
Resplendent white, some archaic sentiment
Of false-purity – it bathes me. Washes me of colour,
‘till I’m baked in the reflective glow of sunlight,
Rinsed of history, of time, treasures and identity.
I’m his now.
This full-bodied mirror, she stands so ungainly
In her bridal pose. A slapstick siren, a young deer
On stilts; A stretch of church floor to hesitate over
Upon hatching. She must make it to the sea.
In this reflection, I see neither him nor I,
But a composite of his kindness, my eyes;
Small forget-me-nots of a daisy-chained child
And a waysided academic.
It’s not my fault, nor his. Our dreams were wasted
By fairytales, poisoned by old fortune. No story
Succeeded, no narrative complete, ‘till love is resolved,
Until love is in place.
I felt his ring around my finger
Before we’d even touched hands.
For, why would I ever care to scale such mountains,
In a world he casts so temperate and sure?
So with each year that shall pass,
From now ‘till some curtained collapse,
I shall reduce in my margins,
Fragmented elements and forgotten scope;
I dissolve unto him,
Stagnant upon his solution.
